


Lucifer's Baby

by usuallysunny



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Like rosemary’s baby but make it Lucifer, Parenthood, Romance, Some angst, daddy Lucifer, set during season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27140251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usuallysunny/pseuds/usuallysunny
Summary: When his elevator doors open to reveal a screaming pink bundle, no explanation other than a note reading “she’s yours”, Lucifer’s world is turned upside down.Luckily, the Detective is there to help — and a daughter isn’t all he finds.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 141
Kudos: 623





	1. Chapter 1

Lucifer was having a _fantastic_ day.

It had begun with a most pleasant breakfast, scrambled eggs on toast for Amenadiel, a glass of rich whiskey and a line of white powder for him. The morning had bled into a thrilling afternoon, giving him a rush that could only come from that delicious push and pull he had with the Detective. It had been a long time since a human had captured his attention quite like Chloe Decker.

They had bickered the way they always bickered, sparks flying between them, and after countless eye-rolls from her and mischievous quips from him, they’d caught the bad guy.

He still found meting out justice _immensely_ satisfying — and now the leggy blonde currently slipping out of his bed was the icing on the cake of a perfect day.

He stood too, his brow arching as he scanned the room for the black silk boxers she had hastily torn off him. He found them in the corner and pulled them on, moving over to his nightstand to grab his lighter and a packet of cigarettes. He slipped one between his teeth and held the packet out to her.

She gave him an easy smile as she took one, her expression hazy and blissed out. _Another job well done_ , he thought with a touch of characteristic arrogance.

He flicked the lighter open with a click, the flame engulfing the end of her cigarette before he lit up his.

He closed his eyes with a pleasant hum as the smoke entered his lungs. Other than another round, there was nothing he enjoyed more after sex than a good cigarette. The blonde — Amy, because he _never_ forgot a lover’s name — was busy trying to find her clothes. He stood in the doorway, leaning against Assyrian stone as he blew some smoke out of the corner of his mouth and watched her pluck her bra from the lampshade.

Once she was dressed, she slipped her too-high heels on and pushed past him with a kiss and a sultry “ _until next time_ ”. His chest swelled with pride again when he noticed she was walking on somewhat shaky legs.

He was just slipping his robe on and putting his cigarette out in the crystal ashtray when he heard the whistle of the elevator doors opening.

“Uh, Lucifer?”

“Back already, darling?” he laughed delightedly, “give a devil a moment to recharge!”

Amy scoffed, her voice travelling from the other room.

“You’re really going to want to come.”

“I’m actually rather spent,” he quipped as he walked into the penthouse, “but I’ll give it my best shot.”

His fingers were already toying at the waistband of his boxers, a jibe about supernatural stamina on the tip of his tongue, when he caught sight of what had made her pause.

She was staring into the open elevator.

More specifically, she was staring at the pink bundle lying in the middle, a bundle that had started emitting some kind of horrible screeching sound.

His brows furrowed, his mouth pinching in disgust.

“What on _earth_ is that?”  
  


* * *

  
Lucifer paced up and down the penthouse, despairing at the day’s turn of events.

It had started off _so well._

The night had descended into chaos, his lovely companion replaced by a creature far more confusing. He raked his fingers through his messy hair, his eyes wide and wild, and _still—_

The thing would _not stop crying._

It wailed and wailed, sounding very much like a dying animal, and he suddenly understood why _childbirth_ and all things _baby-related_ were such a common form of torture in hell. He stopped pacing for a moment and hesitantly leaned forward with his fists drawn to his chest, as though the screeching bundle might jump out at him at any moment. It was on the piano where Amy had left it, scooping it up when it was obvious he was frozen to the spot and then leaving with an uttered _“sorry dude, I’m out. Babies are so not my thing.”_

They certainly weren’t his _thing_ either — so he turned to the only person he knew had experience.

Speaking of, the elevator doors whistled open again and revealed a sight far more welcome.

“Lucifer?” the Detective was calling out before she looked, “ _what_ is so important you would drag me out here this late? Your text wasn’t very helpful—”

Yes, he supposed _“Detective, come immediately. Something absolutely awful has happened,”_ was a little ambiguous.

His wide eyes were still focused on the squirming bundle and he suddenly realised the Detective’s voice had trailed off.

She was staring too.

“What in _God’s_ name is that?”

He gave an incredulous, wry huff.

“Yes, I imagine he probably does have something to do with it.”

He was shocked to see her rush straight over to it, just _approaching_ it like it was _nothing._ She moved the blanket down with her index finger, her curious eyes scanning over the thing.

“Oh Lucifer!” he was even more stunned at how her voice changed — he’d never heard her use that tone before; she was practically _cooing,_ “who is this?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Detective,” he mumbled, running a somewhat shaky hand over his face, “it was just… in my elevator.”

Chloe arched a brow, her finger still on the blanket by the baby’s shoulder.

“ _It?”_

“Yes,” he repeated blankly, “it.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Well, is _it_ a boy or a girl?” 

“I don’t know!” he exclaimed somewhat hysterically — and then he began to pace again, “but it’s wrapped in pink so I would imagine it’s the same as the one you’ve got at home.”

“It’s the 21st century, Lucifer,” Chloe pointed out dryly, “boys can wear pink.”

He scoffed, uncaring, as she gently pulled aside the blanket and took a look. She hummed, wrapping the baby up again. The thing was still crying, but at least it was quieter now — hiccup-y little sobs rather than screeching wails that set his teeth on edge.

“But in this case, it _is_ a girl,” she admitted and then paused as she seemingly caught sight of something, “wait — there’s a note.”

He cocked a brow and took a step forward, still very wary.

“You didn’t see this before?” she asked, raising a brow of her own as she picked the note up and kept her other hand resting gently on the baby’s middle. He wondered why she _wanted_ to touch it so much. He couldn’t think of anything worse.

He told her as much.

“No, I didn’t want to touch the thing.”

She rolled her eyes. She seemed to do a lot of that when he was around. Normally it gave him a little thrill — now, he just felt _numb_.

Confused.

It was an odd sensation.

Powerlessness was not a feeling Lucifer Morningstar was accustomed to.

“Some consultant,” she muttered at his lack of investigative skills before she turned the note and scanned her eyes across it. They widened as she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and slowly returned her gaze to him.

“What is it?”

He watched her struggle for a moment before she came out with it.

“It says she’s yours.”

“ _Mine?”_ he repeated incredulously, “that’s not possible.”

She threw him a deadpan expression.

“Really?” she asked, “with your track record, you _really_ never thought this could happen at some point?”

“My _track record_ ,” he repeated sarcastically, “doesn’t mean a thing. I’m the devil, darling. Human beings can’t procreate with a celestial, it’s not possible.”

The Detective blinked at him, slipping into that bewildered expression she wore every time he mentioned his true nature. She still believed he spoke in wild metaphors and he could see the cogs in her head turning.

Sometimes he thought about just bloody _showing_ her, but even putting aside Dr Linda’s ( _obviously ridiculous_ ) insistences that he was scared of being rejected, he really couldn’t afford for her to fall apart right now. Not when he was barely holding it together.

“O- _kay_ ,” she drawled slowly, “be that as it may… here we are.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, and tried again.

“It is _not_ mine.”

The Detective glanced at the baby again, her expression softening curiously.

“She _is_ really cute,” she admitted with a smile.

“Alright then, maybe it is.”

He couldn’t help himself, but that slip back into his characteristic, flippant self was short-lived when the baby started screeching again.

He flinched, his nose scrunching.

“Bloody hell, why does it keep _doing_ that? Doesn’t it have an _off_ button?”

Chloe rolled her eyes again, leaning down to pick the baby up.

“Maybe if you hadn’t put _her_ on the hard piano,” she muttered, gently rocking the bundle in her arms.

To Lucifer’s surprise, the thing stopped crying almost immediately. He supposed he could relate — he liked it when the Detective touched him too — but _still_ , he wondered how a creature could be so simple and yet so very confusing at the same time.

“I didn’t put it anywhere,” he crossed his arms over his chest, “my guest did before they left.”

“A guest of the female variety, I assume.”

“ _Yes —_ but we have far more pressing issues at hand than your jealousy, Detective.”

This time, her mouth twitched along with her eye roll.

She continued rocking the pink bundle in her arms, the cries replaced by little hiccups and babbles. He had to admit, those sounds weren’t _quite_ as awful.

She took a step towards him.

“Do you want to hold her?”

He drew back.

“ _Hold_ it?” he repeated, outraged, “I don’t know where it’s been!”

A laugh he would normally have found lovely burst out of her. She shook her head in disbelief, probably thinking him utterly ridiculous, but she was _human_ and used to the little urchins and he… _wasn’t_.

He felt like he was sinking, like the ground was turning to quicksand beneath his feet, and he needed her to bring him back to earth.

“Detective, don’t laugh, just—” he sighed, rubbing his jaw anxiously, “—just _help_ me.”

Her expression softened.

“Yes Lucifer,” she murmured and held the child closer to her chest, “I will help you.”  
  


* * *

  
“Lucifer,” a hand suddenly slapped down onto his knee, stopping it from erratically bouncing, “calm down.”

The Detective’s voice sounded too far away, like he was under water, and it took him a moment to blink back to reality.

“What?”

“It’s going to be okay,” she said, her lips twitching into a reassuring smile. It didn’t quite reach her eyes.

He dragged his gaze away from her again and stared at the white, clinical wall. They were waiting for the doctor and the results of the paternity test. It had taken a lot of strings and a lot of his very particular kind of persuasion to get them here. The nurse had stuttered an excuse about no appointments, the doctor had gaped the results needed to be examined at the lab, but Lucifer had simply scooted onto the table, presented the inside of his mouth and insisted they could wait.

His knee had been bouncing ever since. The Detective’s hand was still on it, her other one cradling the little urchin. It was _still_ fussing, making those insufferable, whinging noises. He still hadn’t held it, batting away the Detective’s attempts with “this is a _three thousand dollar_ suit it might spit up on _”_ and insistences that he didn’t have any antibacterial gel and he needed to sanitise his hands first. She thought that was very responsible until he told her it was for his sake, not the child’s.

His nose scrunched as he looked at it again.

He tried to comb through his mind for all his lovers to find a mother, but it was pointless. He couldn’t even tell how old the thing was; his understanding of human ageing was iffy to say the least.

He could see it was Caucasian, with a smattering of dark hair and big brown eyes, so if it was his — _which of course, it wasn’t_ — it would have inherited all that from him, so that didn’t help either. It would be unsurprising for his superior genes to would win through, he thought grimly.

The Detective was being short with him, too — undoubtedly due to a lack of sleep where she had stayed the night and the thing had cried the entire time.

He sat back in his chair and sighed.

The little urchin had been in his life less than 24 hours and it was already ruining it.

Strangely, though, the Detective didn’t seem mad at it. She still coo’d and ahh’d and _giggled_ at the little monster, even though it was the _cause_ of all this mess.

It simply didn’t make sense.

The door opened with a click, the doctor walking inside.

Lucifer sat forward, watching tensely as he flipped his clipboard open.

“Okay, I have the results.”

“Finally,” he barked a little rudely, “so?”

“Well, it looks like—” much to Lucifer’s frustration, he paused, arching a brow and flipping through the charts, “—I’m sorry, this is very embarrassing, I don’t seem to have written down the child's name?”

Chloe’s eyes slid to his, hesitating for a moment before she effortlessly slipped into character.

“Oh, we haven’t decided yet,” he noticed the doctor’s brow raise, which was understandable — even though he had little concept of human ageing, Lucifer could see the thing wasn’t a newborn, “why don’t you just put down Baby Morningstar for now?”

“ _Baby Morningstar_?” Lucifer repeated incredulously under his breath, outraged.

Chloe squeezed his thigh tighter, a silent warning.

“I know you’re still angry, _honey_ , but we promised we’d try to get past this, didn’t we?” she purred, playing the part of a regretful wife who’d made a few bad decisions. Lucifer straightened his back, preening slightly as he sniffed and tugged at the bottom of his waistcoat. How the doctor was supposed to believe she had cheated on a man like him was beyond him.

Still, he played along.

“Of course, darling,” he said through gritted teeth, “now please doctor, I’m just _dying_ to find out if this little _monster_ is mine.”

The doctor’s smile was just as tight, clearly feeling awkward.

“Well, I’m happy to say it’s good news,” he said, brightening up, “you are the father.”

 _And there it is_ , Lucifer thought glumly as he slumped back in his chair…

The end of life as he knew it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware that was the quickest paternity test in history haha but let's just go with it.
> 
> The story is done! It's relatively short at 18,000 words and I'll be updating regularly :) 
> 
> The title is a play on Rosemary's Baby. It’s set in the earlier seasons, Season 2 perhaps, and will essentially be about him learning how to be a father (because who doesn't love daddy!Lucifer?) and finding love with Chloe along the way.


	2. Chapter 2

Two days and countless exhausting conversations later, Lucifer was still totally lost.

He had broken the news to the gang, their shock manifesting in very different ways.

Linda found it curious, was intrigued as to what emotions this would bring out in him. Amenadiel very predictably saw it as a gift from dad, a _blessing,_ something to be celebrated rather than feared. Ella was overjoyed, squealing and jumping up and down and asking to babysit. Maze had simply found it hilarious and asked if she could call him _daddy._

The Detective had been, quite frankly, a _dad-_ send. She hadn’t left his side, only to fetch some of her own offspring’s old stuff, a crib and some old clothes. Now it was the evening, moonlight streaming through the penthouse’s high windows, and she wanted to go home.

Lucifer grabbed her arm, wearing an expression of disbelief.

“You can’t leave me _alone_ with it!”

Chloe rolled her eyes, shrugging her jacket on.

“For the last time, Lucifer — _she,_ not it,” she said, “and _she_ is a defenceless little baby, not some kind of man-eating monster.”

 _What about devil-eating?_ he nearly said, but thought better of it.

He drew his hand back.

“But Detective, I have no idea what I’m doing!”

“Yeah, that’s pretty obvious,” she said dryly, moving over to the elevator and pressing the button, “but you’ll never learn if I stay here forever holding your hand. Besides, I have my own life to get back to — including my _own child.”_

Lucifer waved a dismissive hand.

“Detective Douche can handle your offspring, it’s far more important you handle _mine.”_

She gaped at him, incredulous.

“You are so selfish,” she insisted crossly, “and narcissistic and infuriating and—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he bit out impatiently, “still — _stay_.”

She blinked at him, silence stretching out between them as the elevator doors whistled open behind her. He tried not to focus on how lovely she looked, half bathed in yellow light, her anger making her cheeks flush prettily. He waited for her decision, her next move, and tried to keep his expression even when she sighed in defeat.

“I’m not staying,” she warned as the doors closed behind her, “I _do_ need to get back to Trixie.”

He opened his mouth to protest but she was speaking again.

“Fine. If you really can’t cope, send her away.”

He stilled, surprised.

“What?”

She shrugged.

“You heard me. Throw her out on the street. Take her to an adoption agency. Find her another home. Then you can go back to your _thoroughly_ _fulfilling_ life of drink, drugs and sleeping with everything that moves.”

His brows drew into a frown. He supposed he could do that. He could do all those things. Perhaps not throw it out on the street, that was a tad dramatic, but he could certainly put it up for adoption.

He could find her a nice home with a nice family — a nice, _normal_ family — and she would never see his devil face or his wings and he would never disappoint her.

_It._

He froze.

_Where did that come from?_

He shook his head. Really, he should do those things so _he_ didn’t have to deal with her. So she didn’t mess up his life anymore and he _could_ go back to the drink and drugs and the meaningless sex and all the things he did best.

 _Yes_ , he thought stubbornly, _that’s what he meant._

And yet…

Something was pulling him back. Some part of him, buried deep down, raged against the idea.

As he glanced back at the Detective, the air between them heavy with the weight of everything unsaid, he thought she knew that.

She was testing him.

“But I know you won’t,” she said gently, “it’s time to grow up, Lucifer. It’s time to take responsibility.”

His chest felt too tight, his throat inexplicably dry. He’d been the Lord of Hell so _of course_ he’d had responsibilities before, but never like this. He’d never had someone who depended on him — and certainly not to keep them _safe._

She took him by the crook of the elbow and led him to the crib she’d placed next to his bed.

The baby was _finally_ quiet. She was awake, her little feet tenting the pink blanket as she fussed, but she was quiet.

As he peered in the crib, a curious feeling spread throughout his chest. It was a dull sort of ache — not entirely pleasant, but _warm._ She was such a tiny, fragile little thing. How the hell was she supposed to keep herself alive? His thoughts became wild, panicked. What if something happened to her? What if she was hurt?

He felt dizzy.

The Detective’s hand on his back brought him back to earth.

“She’s your daughter, Lucifer,” she whispered gently, “she’s _yours._ ”

He scoffed, incredulous, that strange warmth flooding his chest again.

“Yes,” he murmured, “I suppose she is.”

The hand that was softly stroking between his shoulder blades suddenly stilled.

“What?” he asked, turning to glance at her.

She was smiling, her bottom lip snagged between her teeth.

“You called her _she._ ”

He blinked, not realising he had. Now that incessant caterwauling had stopped, the little urchin didn’t seem so unpleasant after-all. His fingers twitched at his side.

“You could hold her,” she prompted gently. He wondered how she was always able to read his mind — and then his hands were reaching for the baby.

He took a deep breath, ignoring how she rolled her eyes in amusement. It was _warranted._ The devil holding a baby? _His_ baby? It was a big deal.

He leaned down and picked the thing up.

He expected her to start crying. He expected her to squirm and fuss. Instead, she made a little babbling noise and stared right back at him with big, brown eyes.

 _His_ eyes. It was like looking in a mirror.

“See?” Chloe murmured, “she doesn’t bite.”

He arched a brow, holding the baby under her armpits and turning her around.

His eyes scanned over her back.

“What are you _doing_?”

“Checking for wings,” he said blankly, like it was obvious.

Chloe blinked and then laughed.

“Of course you are.”  
  


* * *

  
The Detective was staring.

“I told you you’d need a bigger notepad,” Lucifer quipped, casually leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

An assembly line of his lovers was curling around the precinct, starting with one of Lux’s lovely dancers Kimberly at the front to Sarah the _very handy_ handywoman at the back. He was sceptical, both that he’d remembered everyone and that he had the right numbers for them and that the woman in question would turn up.

The Detective blinked before collecting her jaw off the floor. Next to them, Ella was holding the baby, making insufferable cooing noises while she spoke to it like a baby herself.

It was enough to make Lucifer gag.

“The doctor put her age at around six months,” the Detective said, clearing her throat, “so we only need to speak to people you slept with around fifteen months ago.”

He stared at her blankly.

“Right,” he agreed, his eyes flickering to the line pointedly.

Chloe’s eyes widened before she shook her head incredulously.

“Whatever,” she sighed eventually, “let’s get started.”

Her patience only seemed to thin as the day went on, a never ending line of ‘suspects’ who had little information to give. Lucifer sat patiently, his hands folded over the interrogation room’s clinical desk, as the Detective pumped for information. It had only been a few days but he was grateful for the peace as Ella entertained his offspring in her lab with what he imaged were even more strange noises.

Kimberly scoffed when they asked if she was the mother, standing up and lifting her shirt.

“What am I looking at?” Chloe asked bluntly, unimpressed.

The dancer blinked as though it were obvious, gesturing to her ebony, flat… toned… _flawless_ stomach. Lucifer tipped his head to the side, his brow arching in renewed interest.

The Detective cleared her throat pointedly, swatting his chest.

“Right,” he grunted, landing back to earth, “and that means…?”

She stared at them dumbly.

“Does this look like the sort of body that pushed a brat out six months ago?”

Lucifer found it funny, the Detective didn’t, and then Kimberly was dismissed for Laura.

Laura had rich, chestnut hair and large brown doe eyes so she was certainly a candidate, but she insisted the baby wasn’t hers either.

Tammy, a particularly bendy yoga instructor whose flexibility he remembered testing in his Corvette, was just as helpful.

“No, the baby’s not mine,” she said in a thick, Valley girl accent, “but I’ll happily give him another… _daddy_.”

Her tongue wrapped around the word sinfully, her eyes dancing playfully. Lucifer quirked a brow, a smirk pulling at his lips before the Detective glared at him again.

He scoffed. She could be so _boring._

“That won’t be necessary, Tammy darling, thank you,” he purred and sent the girl away with a kiss on the hand.

The Detective slumped back in her seat.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

He focused on his sleeves, adjusting his expensive cufflinks.

“Thank you.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Will you please take this seriously?” she asked, “I thought you _wanted_ to find her mother.”

He did. The uncertainty was killing him — and the notion that there was a woman out there who had carried his child and birthed it into the world, _possibly alone_ , made him feel sad. It didn’t seem right, that he wasn’t there, that he couldn’t help. Even if it was just to give her money, just something to help her along. More than that, he worried she was in trouble, worried about what would drive her to abandon her child, and he felt a sense of responsibility he’d never felt before.

“I do,” he insisted and then hid his true anxieties behind bravado, “the sooner I can offload that intolerable burden, the better.”

The Detective clicked her tongue.

“Sure,” she said, sounding unconvinced.

By the time they got to Sarah the handywoman (who couldn’t have children, even if she wanted them), they had more or less given up.

Then Suki Price sat down at the interrogation table.

Lucifer’s brows pulled into a frown, his fingers tented over his mouth. He didn’t always remember his sexual conquests — there were _thousands_ of them, after-all — but he always recognised the face when he saw it again and this one was drawing a blank.

It was also staring at him rather unsettlingly.

“Lucifer…” she breathed his name like it was sacred.

“Miss Price,” the Detective started, “we appreciate you coming in, but—”

“The baby’s mine!” the girl squeaked, her eyes wide and unblinking.

“—the baby is Caucasian,” Chloe finished slowly.

Suki blinked, the cogs in her head turning.

“So were my parents,” she tried, clearly lying, “genetics be crazy, huh?”

Lucifer tiredly pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“Okay Miss Price, thank you for coming in,” Chloe repeated diplomatically, standing up and gesturing for the girl to leave.

“Lucifer, I love you!” she screeched as the Detective took her by the arm and practically tossed her out, “I know everything about you! I’d be the _best_ mother, I promise!”

He caught sight of a very bewildered Detective Douche staring from the bullpen before the interrogation room doors closed again.

Chloe must have seen the distressed look on his face because she didn’t tell him off this time.

“You okay?” she asked instead, her voice quiet.

“We’re not going to find her, are we?” he said solemnly, all traces of humour gone.

The Detective looked sympathetic, moving over to him and placing her hand on his shoulder. He covered it with his own, giving her fingers a squeeze, because even though she was the only one who made him vulnerable, she was the only one who made him feel better too.

“Lucifer, she probably doesn’t want to be found,” she said gently, “maybe we were stupid to think she would just turn up here. Clearly, there’s something going on with her. But you’ll find your way — and I’ll be with you as you do.”

He smiled, because _really_ , how could he ask any more than that?  
  


* * *

  
It was gone midnight and Lucifer was still staring at the baby — _his_ baby.

It still didn’t seem real.

The Detective had left a few hours ago, slipping through his fingers after showing him where the diapers and milk were, and he still remembered the last thing she’d insisted before the elevator doors closed on her.

_“She needs a name, Lucifer.”_

So here he was, arms crossed over his chest as he tried to think of one.

He’d asked — or whined, rather — for the Detective to do it, waving it away with a dismissive hand. She’d rolled her eyes and told him he had to do it himself.

“Perhaps it’s for the best,” he said to the little girl in the crib, “she did give her own offspring a hooker’s name.”

He chuckled and went quiet, as though waiting for a response. He rolled his eyes at his own stupidity and then began to think.

“What to call you…” he hummed, tipping his head to the side.

She babbled some gibberish.

“Obviously no child of mine is going to have a boring name,” he enthused, raising a teasing eyebrow, “if she ran out of stripper names, the Detective probably would’ve given you her middle one — _Jane_.”

He scoffed, highly amusing himself, before he told himself to get a grip.

“Kali?” he asked, his mind starting to spark with ideas, “the goddess of destruction?”

She hiccupped unhelpfully.

“Naamah?” he said, “she was a particularly nasty little demon who worked for me back in Hell. You can probably sense a theme. Can’t tell you the number of times I had to pull her and Maze apart.”

The little girl huffed, as though she were thoroughly unimpressed.

“Dolores?” he asked, “that one means sorrow.”

She blew a raspberry. He took that as a _no._

“If we were Swahili, I would call you _Jela,_ ” he said, amused, “it means _the father suffered during birth_. Of course I wasn’t there for _that_ , but… it’s still fitting, I think.”

He was only playing around but the joke backfired as a strange wave of sadness crashed over him. He _wasn’t_ there for the birth. He couldn’t hold her mother’s hand, whoever she was. He didn’t know if his daughter cried when she came into the world, or if she had a favourite toy, or if she wondered where that mother was.

 _He_ wondered where she was.

He wondered why she’d abandoned her child. 

He felt strangely sad again.

“If Amenadiel were your father, he would probably call you something like Diana,” he smirked, rolling his eyes, “or Alya or Celeste.”

The baby suddenly flapped her arms like a bird, making him draw back in surprise. She let out a giggle before a spit bubble burst through her lips.

“Oh, you like that?” he asked curiously.

She giggled again.

“Which one? Diana?” he waited for her reaction, “Alya?” and waited again, “Celeste?”

At the last name, the baby _squealed._

He flinched before he stared down at her again.

“Alright,” he whispered, his tone strangely gentle as he thought about what the name meant, “I can’t say I’m _entirely_ on board… but Celeste it is.”  
  


* * *

  
“It’s beautiful, Luci,” Amenadiel smiled, gently rocking the baby.

 _He’s a natural_ , Lucifer thought reluctantly, equal measures of bitter and impressed. He merely grunted in response, lifting his whiskey glass to his lips.

“What does it mean?” the Detective asked.

“It means heavenly,” Amenadiel said softly, “something divine, a _gift._ Some would even say _heaven-sent._ ”

His expression was heavy and significant as he looked at his brother.

Lucifer bristled under it, feeling very much like an insect under a microscope, and really, he _invited_ Amenadiel to understand his intentions because he certainly didn’t.

“That _is_ beautiful,” Chloe agreed, reaching for her from where she sat next to Amenadiel. The baby giggled and grabbed her finger, squeezing tight. “You could call her Cece!”

“Yes,” Lucifer muttered dryly as he took a sip of whiskey, grateful for the burn as it scorched down his throat, “ _you_ could.”

“Still, it must mean something,” the Detective said, arching a brow, “that you would choose that for her.”

“ _She_ chose it!”

Amenadiel and Chloe glanced at each other, as though in on a secret they weren’t sharing. Lucifer’s irritation flared under his skin, his fingers closing tighter around the glass, and he looked to Maze for moral support.

She was staring at the baby, her dark eyes narrowed.

“I can’t wait to give her her first knife,” she breathed, fascinated.

Lucifer growled in frustration.

The baby — _Celeste_ — was giggling, touching Amenadiel’s face with a chubby hand. Lucifer frowned, inexplicable jealousy coursing through his veins.

“It makes sense,” his brother said, chuckling against her little fingers, “that Lucifer would give his child such a… _divine_ name. After-all… his own means light-bringer.”

The Detective looked intrigued, her sharp eyes surveying him.

“I didn’t know that,” she murmured, her expression unreadable, “quite an angelic moniker for the _devil_ , don’t you think?”

He poured himself another drink, burning under her watchful gaze, and felt very vulnerable indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone doesn't remember, Suki Price was the stalker from Season 2 (Stewardess Interruptus) who was obsessed with Lucifer (aren't we all?). We will find out who the mother is, but not yet😏
> 
> Diana, Alya and Celeste are all names that mean things like: heavenly, divine, heavens, highborn, exalted etc, you get the message. Or at least that's what Google tells me....


	3. Chapter 3

As time went by, Lucifer learned to forgive his daughter for a multitude of sins.

He learned to grin and bear it when she threw up on him, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath and trying not to think about the price of the suit. He learned how to change her diaper without gagging. He learned how to not hold it against her when she cried all night, tiredly rocking her in her crib or even in his arms. For a while, he tried to pretend he was unaffected, that he didn’t hold her unless he absolutely _had_ to and that he still found her insufferably boring.

Until one day, he slowly woke to see three women staring down at him. 

“Am I dreaming?” he muttered sleepily, “no, I can’t be. You’re all dressed.”

He was so exhausted, it took him a good thirty seconds to blink past the haze. He was sitting up in bed, the pillows propped up behind him, and he’d obviously fallen asleep against the headboard.

Maze was grinning. Ella was wide eyed and _teary?_ The Detective was trying to hide a smile.

“That…” Ella breathed, clutching her hands to her chest, “…is too fucking _cute._ ”

Lucifer cocked a brow and looked down.

“Ah…” he said uncomfortably, his tone clipped.

Celeste was cradled protectively in his arms, where they had clearly fallen asleep together, entwined. He remembered her fussing in the middle of the night, remembered thinking he would just hold her for a moment, but clearly he had never put her back. She was still asleep, strangely calm.

It stirred something warm inside him, the fact that she felt safe with him.

“Yes well,” he sniffed, shuffling slightly, “the brat kept me up all night. Selfish little thing.” 

Maze snorted.

“Looks like you hated every second of it,” she smirked.

He rolled his eyes, still rather exhausted, but as he handed the baby to the Detective, he felt no resentment. He was quickly learning to forgive Celeste for most things.

But what he _couldn’t_ forgive, what he couldn’t possibly abide, was that she was _destroying_ his sex life.

He supposed the first time wasn’t _exactly_ her fault.

He was in the middle of a particularly heated make-out session with the Brittanys — a tangle of tongues, teeth, heat and passion. There was a mouth attached to either side of his neck, one girl pressed into his side and the other straddling his lap. It was the first time he’d had company in his bed since his little _gift_ arrived and he was overwhelmingly, devastatingly, unprecedentedly… _distracted_.

He screwed his eyes shut.

Warm, wet lips trailed a path down his neck. He saw a flash of diapers and a bottle of milk. Nimble fingers tugged at his belt. He couldn’t remember if he’d told Linda, who was babysitting, that Celeste liked the pink pacifier, not the green one. Icy blonde hair fell either side of his face like a curtain. He reminded himself to buy some padding to cover the sharp edges of the furniture; when she started crawling, the penthouse was _not_ babyproof.

“Lucifer?” someone was speaking into the hollow of his throat, “you still with us, handsome?”

He cleared his throat, plastering a fake smile on his face.

“Of course, darlings,” he purred, turning on the charm, “where were we?”

A warm hand snaked between his legs as the Brittany on top of him settled into position.

“Right about here,” she murmured huskily.

His mouth tipped into a salacious grin before he noticed something.

“Oops,” he quipped, leaning over the other Brittany as her fingers stroked up and down his chest, “don’t be a fool, wrap your tool.”

As he rummaged in his bedside drawer, the girl currently straddling him leaned down to trace her mouth across his jaw.

“Let’s just be naughty and risk it,” she breathed.

He froze.

“ _Excuse me?_ ” he repeated, deathly quiet.

She giggled as though the prospect wasn’t _incredibly_ distressing. As though he wasn’t _traumatised._

She kissed him. He remained still as stone beneath her.

“Relax, it’s cool,” she soothed.

He drew back, every muscle taut. The air must have shifted because the Brittany glued to his side scooted away.

“It most certainly is not _cool_ ,” he imitated sarcastically, pushing her off him and hastily grabbing his dressing gown. She landed on the silk sheets with a little huff, a tangle of long, tanned legs. He jerked the gown on a little too aggressively, stomping over to the bar where he poured himself a drink.

He held the glass so tightly, it whined and cracked under his grip.

The two Brittanys were leaning against the doorway to his bedroom, their arms crossed over their bare chests. He turned with an arched brow, his dark eyes sweeping over their naked bodies, and felt… _nothing_.

Not even a stir. Totally limp.

Still, he slipped back into that magnetic character, oozing charm.

“Sorry, my darlings. You seem to have caught me at a bad time.”

The blonde Brittany looked to the brunette one.

“But you’re _always_ up for it,” she whined, her voice like nails on a chalkboard, making him wince, “what changed?”

He brought his whiskey glass up to his lips and scoffed, an incredulous huff escaping him. When he answered, his voice was quiet.

“Everything."  
  


* * *

  
“I give it six months.”

Lucifer dragged his gaze away from the changing table, a hand splayed on the spawn’s belly to keep it still.

“What?” he snapped at Amenadiel, his patience wearing thin. He was already face to face with a soiled diaper and a far too smug baby, two tissues dramatically shoved up each nostril — he did _not_ need any more aggravation.

His brother _laughed._

“Do you think this is _funny?”_ he asked, distraught.

“I think it’s incredible,” Amenadiel answered, sitting back in his chair, “the Lord of Hell, fallen angel, _prince of darkness_ … up to his elbows in diapers.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes, moving the soiled diaper to the side. He closed his eyes and took a theatrical breath before he wiped. He grimaced, his mouth pinching in disgust, and the little urchin just giggled at his despair.

“Trust me, I’m as shocked as you are,” he muttered as he tried to work out how to attach the clean diaper to the thing, “I have no idea what Dad’s playing at.”

He regretted the words almost immediately because before he knew it, Amenadiel’s eyes were flashing with interest. He sat back, folding his hands over his lap, and gave a little hum.

“You think Dad has something to do with this?”

“Obviously,” Lucifer said tersely, “I’ve slept with a, quite literally, countless number of women, and there are no other unbearable little burdens hanging around.”

“That you know of.”

Lucifer paled.

“No, you’re right,” Amenadiel quickly continued, taking pity on him, “He must have a greater plan for you — a _purpose_.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes again, buttoning the baby’s onesie.

They both spoke at the same time.

“He’s punishing me.”

“He’s testing you.”

Lucifer arched a brow.

“Alright, I’ll bite. A test... how?”

Amenadiel leaned forward in his chair, his expression bright and excited. Lucifer fought the urge to roll his eyes yet again. There was nothing his brother loved more than trying to read something positive in Dad’s stupid, pointless messages.

“To show you there’s more to life than the meaningless, profligate one you were living. There’s more than booze, sex, drugs and women.”

“Ssh,” Lucifer frowned, covering the baby’s ears mockingly, “she’ll hear you.”

It was Amenadiel’s turn to roll his eyes.

“I believe you have the capacity for great feeling, Luci. You said there’s nothing celestial about her, no wings or powers… that she bleeds. She’s humanity at its most pure and innocent, sent to show you the way. She’s a blessing. A _gift_.”

His voice had turned all wistful and pious. Lucifer wanted to throw up.

“Whatever you say,” he quipped cheerfully, “and _what_ do you give six months?”

Amenadiel smiled smugly.

“For you to fall in love with her.”

Lucifer paused before a scoff rolled from his chest.

How utterly ridiculous.

There was no _way._

None at all.

“These humans have made you soft, brother,” he accused and then scooped the baby up, resting her on one hip. He sighed in irritation and pulled away as she grabbed onto his lapel, and then he picked the soiled diaper up with the other hand.

As he walked past Amenadiel, he shoved it into his chest. A throaty chuckle escaped him at his brother’s wince.

“Now would you please dispose of my gift’s _gift_?”  
  


* * *

_  
It was official_ , Lucifer thought.

His child was ruining his life.

The next time he tried to console himself with a decent shag, she’d screamed the entire time from where he’d shoved her crib into the living room.

He tried to ignore it, to block it out, but hot guilt lashed at him like a whip every time he did.

He lifted his mouth from the redhead’s neck, screwing his eyes shut with a wince. He held a finger up, an apologetic look flashing across his face.

“Just a minute, darling,” he grimaced for the third time and left the bed, willing the tent in his boxers to go down. He practically jogged over to the crib, peering into it.

Celeste was wailing, her face scrunched up and red.

“ _What?”_ he snapped, frustrated, “I’ve fed you, bathed you, read you that ridiculous story about that _stupid_ caterpillar… what more do you want?”

She kept on bawling, silver tear tracks glittering on her flushed cheeks.

He sighed and remembered something the Detective said — _“you’re her dad, Lucifer. Just being near you will comfort her” —_ and picked her up. 

Shockingly, it worked.

She stopped crying.

He arched a brow, staring down at her with an expression of surprise and bewilderment. He rocked her in his arms uncertainly, her cries replaced by contented little babbles and hums. He swayed with her, his eyes scanning over her face.

He took in her warm brown eyes, like doe eyes, and button nose and he had to admit… the Detective was right.

She _was_ cute.

Of course she was cute, he thought smugly, she was _his._

He’d never understood the human desire to procreate. _Terrible, taxing burdens_ , he’d once called them, and Celeste certainly was a burden and _yet_ —

He couldn’t put her down.

He couldn’t stop looking at her.

“Well,” he sighed, feeling a fist around his heart, “isn’t this inconvenient?”

When he put her down, she cried again, so next time, he just… _didn’t_.

He must have painted quite the picture — the all-powerful, former Lord of Hell, King of Desire, with a _baby_ in his arms. At the back of his mind, he registered that he was even _cooing._ He wondered if he sounded like the Detective and then he wondered why he couldn’t stop _thinking_ about the Detective. He pushed it down.

“Lucifer, come back to bed,” the redhead behind him was purring, snaking an arm around his waist from behind, “put it down — it’s fine.”

“ _She_ ,” he corrected and then tried not to throw up at his own hypocrisy, “and I can’t.”

His tone was lined with disbelief and then for the second time, he said, “sorry darling, you seem to have caught me at a bad time.”

His eyes were mournfully glued to her ass as she left.

He dragged his eyes back to the baby in his arms and sighed.

“Now _what_ are we going to do with you?”  
  


* * *

  
The next time was even worse.

He decided to treat himself to a proper Devil’s threesome. He was convinced it would really get him back into the swing of things. He dropped his offspring off at Ella’s, seeing as she’d been begging for weeks. He rolled his eyes at the way she’d practically grabbed the baby from his arms, smothered her with kisses, and told him not to rush back.

He turned his phone off because he was _not_ going to be interrupted — he _wasn’t._ Then he thought about emergencies and stared at it for ten minutes, chewing his nail. Finally, he settled on a compromise and with a growl of frustration, put it on vibrate.

He lit candles, laid out various handcuffs and toys, and filled the penthouse with the dulcet tones of Marvin Gaye.

It was cheesy… but there was a reason the classics worked. 

He practically fell out of the elevator, his mouth fused to soft lips as a pair of hands pulled at his clothes. As he broke the kiss and dragged his mouth to a cheek, his lips slid over the harsh grit of stubble. He’d chosen a couple to take to bed and it had been a while since he’d been with a man. It was just the spark of excitement he needed and his blood sang with anticipation.

Once he had them both in his bed, the man draped over his side and the woman straddling him, a devastating smirk pulled at his mouth.

They were both putty in his hands, matching shudders tracing down their spines.

“The things I’m going to do to you…”

He purred — and then promptly fell asleep.  
  


* * *

  
“Right, that’s it!” Lucifer declared as he strode into the community hall where he knew the Detective was interviewing suspects, “I can’t do this.”

She blinked, her lips parting in surprise.

He extended his arms, holding Celeste under the armpits, and practically shoved her into the Detective’s chest.

She took her with a grunt, still blinking wildly.

“Lucifer,” she bit out through gritted teeth, “this is a crime scene, what the hell are you doing?”

He threw his arms up and let them slap to his sides again.

“She’s _ruining_ my life,” he accused, pointing a finger childishly, “I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, how am I supposed to get anything — or _anyone_ — done? _Everything_ revolves around her, she’s so selfish!”

Chloe stared at him.

“Welcome to parenthood.”

He huffed a rush of air through his nostrils.

He was about to whine again when she held a hand up, clutching Celeste to her chest with the other one.

He braced himself for a scolding but when she spoke, her voice was surprisingly gentle.

“It’s okay to have bad days,” she reassured him, “it’s okay to feel overwhelmed. Just take a deep breath, we’ll get through it.”

He closed his eyes and did as he was told.

“Better?” she asked, her tone lined with amusement.

It was.

The white hot, blurred edges of his vision started to come into focus, the world righting itself. He took another deep breath. He wondered how she could calm him so easily, why she understood him better than any human ever had, why he just always, _always_ wanted to be near her…

 _One crisis at a time,_ he thought desperately.

“I do hope you’re not laughing at my misfortune, Detective,” he muttered without opening them.

“Never, Lucifer.”

A loud gasp followed by a whimper of adoration — a sound he was quickly coming to associate with women meeting his child — caused one eye to fly open. 

“Who is _this?”_ a middle aged woman was positively squealing, grabbing Celeste’s little wrist and waving her arm randomly.

Even Celeste looked puzzled, staring back at the woman blankly.

 _You and me both, darling,_ Lucifer thought, bemused.

He was supposed to have the day off but he knew the case the Detective was working on, a murder at a book club. It was very _Agatha Christie_ , he thought, and it meant the suspects were by and large women.

Another one was appearing, crowding his baby and his Detect— _the_ Detective—and gasping, “that is the most beautiful baby I have ever seen.”

Lucifer preened at the praise, his chest practically puffing in pride. 

More women started appearing, a swarm of cooing creatures that reminded him of the zombie apocalypse. They were circling his offspring like vultures and his protective instinct kicked in, his fingers itching. Then he rolled his eyes at his own ridiculousness — they were only _humans,_ after-all.

Celeste clearly felt overwhelmed because she huffed and snuggled closer into the Detective.

 _Yes,_ he thought wryly, he understood that inclination too.

“Aw, you love your mommy?” one of the women cooed.

Chloe’s eyes widened but before she could say anything, Lucifer slipped into his effortless, charming persona.

“Not as much as she loves her daddy,” he purred, plucking the child from Chloe’s arms.

It had the desired effect, the women practically melting into puddles around him — and the Detective’s eye roll betrayed the fact that she knew _exactly_ what he was doing.

The vultures all turned their attention on him. They devoured him with their glazed over eyes and he knew desire when he saw it. He had them all under his spell, in command of the room’s very energy and vibrations. It all pulsed towards him.

How _very_ curious, he thought.

“You’re her daddy?” one of them asked, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she not-so-subtly rubbed her chest.

“For my sins,” he smirked.

As they all fussed over him, Celeste still looking very puzzled indeed, the Detective crossed her arms next to him.

“Are you _seriously_ using your child to get laid?” she muttered under her breath.

“Devil’s prerogative, darling,” he purred and presented his ring to Celeste, knowing exactly how she would react at the shiny jewellery. As predicted, she giggled in delight and closed her tiny fist around his finger, “got to be an upside.”

The women practically _whimpered_.

“You are _shameless._ ”

“Just say the word Detective, and you’ll jump straight to the front of the queue,” he said teasingly, “you know that. In-fact, I’m _finally_ revved up, the engine is _hot,_ let’s go.”

He grabbed her hand, only half joking, and she pushed him away with a chuckle.

 _One of these days_ , he thought mournfully.

One of these days, she would say yes.


	4. Chapter 4

Lucifer wasn’t sure _when_ exactly, but somewhere along the way, something changed.

He couldn’t pinpoint a date or time. He didn’t know _how_ it had happened either. All he knew was that he couldn’t remember a time when Celeste wasn’t in his life.

He didn’t even find her boring anymore.

In-fact, with every new smile, every new expression she made, every subtle way she grew or changed, he found himself more and more _fascinated_.

It just became natural, that the first thing he did after waking up was peer into her crib. He’d spend what seemed like hours just staring at her, his brows pulling into a frown and panic bubbling in his throat before he had to put two fingers to her neck to check she was breathing. He’d always roll his eyes and huff at his own stupidity afterwards, glancing around the empty room to check no-one had seen, but he still did it again and again.

His relationship with the Detective had changed too, morphing into something new. It went unspoken, this curious little family dynamic they had built, but they both knew it was there. It burned under the surface, a flame that licked inside him, waiting to be ignited.

He was trying to be patient. He didn’t want to mess this up. Celeste adored her, after-all, and he had her to think about now.

It was a curious thing, he thought, to care about someone more than you cared about yourself.

Because he did.

These two girls — _three_ if you included Trixie which, given his inability to say no to her, he supposed you had to — had him absolutely wrapped around their finger.

He didn’t know when that happened, either.

The Detective’s offspring was currently playing with his own, tickling her stomach from where she lay on the playmat.

“I just love her,” she was saying very seriously, “she’s the cutest thing _ever._ ”

The Detective chuckled from the sofa, one leg crossed over the other.

Lucifer hummed, leaning over the bar. His fingers tapped along the edge of his whiskey glass as he watched the girls play. Warmth spread like a blanket over his skin. It was positively sickening.

He loved it.

He turned away to refill his glass, watching the brown liquid pour from the bottle. As he lifted the glass to his lips, a gasp caused his hand to pause mid-air.

“Uh, Lucifer?” Trixie was saying his name slowly, pointedly.

He turned around with an arched brow. The Detective was staring in disbelief, a laugh bubbling from her lips. She covered her mouth with her hands but her smile shone through.

The baby was _escaping._

“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed, putting his whiskey glass down and rushing over. He scooped Celeste up from where she was making her getaway from the playmat and stared at the Detective with wild eyes, “she was getting away!”

Chloe hid her laugh behind her hand.

“Lucifer,” she said fondly, “she was _crawling._ ”

“Crawling?” he repeated, stunned, and held the baby at arm’s length so he could examine her, “Oh, well that’s… that’s bloody marvellous!”

Warmth flooded his chest as he put her down again and watched her creep off.

She wasn’t very fast, he didn’t think she’d be winning any races, and he was the devil so he’d pretty much experienced everything but _still_ —

It was the best thing he had ever seen.

Trixie giggled and started to copy her, pretending it was a competition and making both children laugh excitedly.

“Lucifer, you look…” the Detective was staring at him, an unreadable expression on her face. Her eyes were a little glassy, shining warm and affectionate.

He arched a brow, hiding behind bravado again.

“Handsome? Irresistible?” he teased, “like you _finally_ want to take me to bed?”

Her mouth twitched into a gentle smile.

“Like a dad.”  
  


* * *

  
Lucifer was having a terrible evening.

Trixie had decided to stuff her face with chocolate cake before she collapsed into bed. He didn’t particularly care or try very hard to stop her, but he knew he’d get an earful from the Detective for it. He was also pretty sure Celeste was _teething —_ or whatever these humans called it — because she’d been grizzling for three hours straight.

But worse than all of that was the fact that the Detective was on a _date_.

A date with one of the newbies they worked with, just transferred from out of state. 

A date she still wasn’t back from at 10pm.

He was sitting in the chair facing the front door, rocking Celeste in his arms, bathed in lamplight and staring like a lunatic. His Italian loafer was tapping impatiently on the floor, his teeth gritted so tight his jaw was starting to ache.

 _Where was she?_ And why did he _care_ so much?

He registered this feeling, _recognised_ this feeling, like a fat man sitting on his chest.

He was jealous, he thought numbly.

How very depressing.

How very _predictable_.

He hated that he’d agreed to do this. He was the _Lord of Hell_ , he thought sourly. Not some glorified babysitter. He checked his watch again but that only seemed to make time go slower and shoved a bottle in Celeste’s mouth in a futile attempt to placate her.

Finally, at precisely 10:17 ( _not that he was counting_ ), the Detective’s key turned in the lock.

She closed the door behind her and jumped out of her skin when she saw him sitting in the corner.

“Jesus…” she breathed, her hand over her chest.

Lucifer’s mouth twitched but it wasn’t a smile.

“Not quite.”

She huffed humourlessly and tossed her keys on the counter. She shrugged her jacket off her shoulders and hung it up and then she was standing in-front of him, her hands on her hips.

She looked stunning, half bathed in moonlight from the window and wearing a deep blue dress she didn’t wear for him. It brought out her eyes, pale and sharp, and they were looking at him inquisitively, like he was a case she wanted to solve. It made him bristle, made him want to run away, and an anger that deep down he _knew_ was irrational coursed through him.

He was irritated by how beautiful he found her, so utterly perfect. He was irritated by how weak she made him feel, how vulnerable, the feeling penetrating and stuck deep in his chest. He was irritated that he felt so _jealous,_ an emotion he normally scoffed at, one he’d never felt with anyone else. It blazed like hellfire inside him.

“How is Detective Dick?” he asked sarcastically.

She scoffed, coming to sit on the sofa next to his chair. Her expression softened as she leaned over and fussed at Celeste in his arms, gently stroking her cheek with the backs of two fingers. Lucifer rolled his eyes, another wave of hot envy rolling over him. _Great,_ he thought dryly, now he was jealous of his own spawn.

“His name is Richard.”

He knew that, obviously, but merely grunted in response.

“Detective _Sharp_ is a good man,” she said, “and I think you know that. We had a nice time.”

A muscle in his jaw jumped.

“Well, that’s just _great_ ,” he bit out, the ‘t’ a little too harsh, “I’m glad you had a grand time while I looked after the offsprings. Now who’s the irresponsible one?”

She drew back as though he’d hit her and he regretted the words almost immediately.

“You sleep with anything that moves and I go on one date and I’m irresponsible?” she asked heatedly, her tone lined with hurt, “don’t you think that’s a little hypocritical? I’m not your babysitter, Lucifer. I don’t owe you anything, yet I’m _always_ around for you. Ever since Cece arrived, it’s always been me. Not Amenadiel, not Linda, not Maze — _me_. I’ve been here through everything and you don’t even seem to care. So don’t sit there and act like I’m the bad guy just because I took _one_ night for myself.”

Another feeling, just as intense as jealousy, rocketed through him. He recognised it as guilt, but he was still angry and hurt too, and the apology lodged tight in his chest. Her accusation also brought another realisation kicking and screaming to the surface. He _didn’t_ sleep with everything that moved, not anymore. He hadn’t slept with _anyone_ for months, and he knew Celeste wasn’t the only reason.

It was the Detective.

He quite simply didn’t _want_ anyone else.

The realisation only made him more defensive, his walls flying up high around him.

He stood with Celeste in his arms, moving over to the playpen in the middle of the room and placing her inside. She was nearly asleep, her thumb in her mouth, and her eyes started to droop. _Good,_ he thought. He would rather she didn’t hear them fighting — and he needed a stiff drink if that was where this was heading.

His fingers itched for one, his throat too dry, but he was in her house, not his, and it didn’t look like she was offering.

She looked mad, her eyes bright and angry, and he wanted her.

He could hardly believe how much. It thrummed and pulsed between them like a living thing, the air heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid.

He suddenly registered something she had said.

_You don’t even seem to care._

He stared at her in disbelief.

“You think I don’t care?”

A flicker of _something_ passed through her eyes before she stubbornly clenched her jaw and lifted her chin.

“There was a time I thought you might,” she said, her voice a little broken, “but then you ran off to Vegas. And that’s… _fine_ , it’s cool, but you can’t have it both ways.”

He felt the words in his chest, like the bullet from a gun and just as painful. They had never spoken about this before, hiding behind euphemism, leaving all the hurt and pain to bristle between them unsaid. Now they strangled his throat, winding tight around him.

He told himself he’d done it to protect her — but he never let himself think about how _painful_ it must have been, when she had walked into his penthouse and found white sheets covering the furniture, and he had walked in with a _wife_ on his arm.

Looking back now, he could see that he’d been selfish.

More than that, he could see that this… _thing_ between them… it was hurting her.

“Detective, the last thing I want to do is hurt you,” he said quietly, not missing how her bottom lip trembled slightly and she looked away, “I’m sorry. I really am.”

He just said it — because he couldn’t think of what _else_ to say.

He didn’t know how to fix things.

Her expression was softening but she still looked angry, upset.

“My evening _was_ nice,” she said again, her eyes flickering over him.

“I’m glad,” he said tightly, the words like spitting razor blades.

“It was _just_ nice,” she clarified, “it was fine — nothing special. No fireworks. I won’t be seeing Detective Sharp again. Well, outside of the precinct obviously.”

The wave of relief that washed over him was depressingly predictable.

“I’m sorry.”

The look she gave him was heavy and significant, imploring for _more._

“Are you?”

“No, darling,” he said, his mouth twitching into a melancholy smile, “I’m not.”  
  


* * *

  
Celeste was _definitely_ teething.

After-all, she had settled into the penthouse and his life rather well, and this intolerable wailing for hours on end had stopped months ago.

He had tried everything. He’d fed her, bathed her, given her favourite toys and bought new ones. He’d rocked her, tossed her in the air, played her the piano, read her a story — _everything_.

Nothing was working.

He was one more snivel away from tearing his hair out.

He was sitting on his tan leather sofa, the wailing baby resting on his thighs.

“I know it hurts, darling,” he tried to soothe, “or at least _google_ said it did.”

His response was a sob that melted into a hiccup.

“I don’t know how to help you,” he lamented, “I don’t know how to cheer you up.”

He bounced her on his leg, trying to placate her, but it still wasn’t working.

Suddenly his mind sparked with an idea.

He pushed it down stubbornly before it reared its ugly head again. He _couldn’t._ It wasn’t right. It would _scare_ her, not comfort her… but he was totally out of ideas. He always swore he would never show her, that he would keep it from her, but _then_ , it was a part of her, just as it was a part of him.

He took a deep breath, turned his face away from her and hoped to _Dad_ that this worked.

When he turned back, it was with the red bumps and ridges of his devil face, all raised scar tissue and eyes blazing with hellfire.

And just like that, the curious creature stopped crying.

She blinked at him with wide, wet, curious eyes — and then, she started laughing uncontrollably.

Lucifer blinked, stunned, before he laughed too.

“You little weirdo,” he muttered fondly, feeling accepted for perhaps the first time ever.

Later, when she had finally fallen asleep and he laid awake in his own bed, he would realise it was the first time anyone had seen his devil face and _smiled_.


	5. Chapter 5

It was game night at the penthouse and Lucifer had no drinks suitable for Trixie.

He clicked his tongue and scanned the bar.

“So vodka, gin, wine… all a _no_?” he asked, genuinely unsure. Each country’s ridiculous, arbitrary drinking age on this earth seemed to blur into one.

The Detective stared at him.

“No.”

He picked up his bottle of 1926 Macallan.

“Whiskey?” he asked, “Celeste loves this one.”

“ _What?”_

He rolled his eyes at the Detective’s exclamation.

“Just a thimble to help her sleep now and then,” he said casually.

Chloe pinched the bridge of her nose despairingly.

“I can’t believe I have to say this,” she muttered, “but _please_ don’t give your baby alcohol, Lucifer.”

“Fine, suits me,” he shrugged, putting it back on the shelf, “this bottle’s worth about a million dollars.”

The Detective spluttered, emitting a sound somewhere between a scoff and a gasp. Before she could collect herself, he rubbed his hands together and walked to the elevator.

“Well, all I have other than that is milk, so I’ll run downstairs and get something.”

“Okay,” the Detective’s wide eyes were still staring at the ludicrously expensive whiskey, “she likes Coke, if you can find that.”

He paused, totally clueless, before he shook his head.

“I’ll call Maze,” he insisted lightly and let the elevator take him down.

Thirty minutes later, having got caught up in countless boring conversations with unfortunately important business associates, Lucifer was heading back upstairs with a bottle of Coke in hand. 

When the elevator doors opened, the tune he was whistling tapered off.

The Detective and their respective spawns had clearly been unable to wait for refreshments, because they were fast asleep on his Italian leather couch.

Trixie was curled into her mother’s side, her mouth open and a little drool escaping. His own offspring was in the Detective’s arms, her chest rising and falling with gentle breaths. The Detective herself was fast asleep but still clutching both girls protectively, as though ready to wake and defend them at any moment.

As he walked over and stood before them, Lucifer felt warmth pool in his chest. It was a curious feeling. Tight and intense, it made it hard to breathe. Much to Ella’s disappointment, he’d never seen Celeste happily sleep in _anyone_ else’s arms. The Detective was the only other person than him that she trusted, the only one who could calm her.

As he watched them, it was silent and he could pretend.

He could pretend they were something _other_ than what they were.

He could wonder how it would feel for this to be his — really _his._ To just be a man who loved her, and she a woman who loved him, and Trixie and Celeste just two kids who made them a _family._ He wouldn’t be the devil and she wouldn’t be scared and neither of them would belong to this world. He would just be a boring nightclub owner and he wouldn’t know how to mojo people or how it felt to unfurl a pair of wings. She would crawl into their bed at the end of a long day and let him massage her tired shoulders ( _amongst other things_ ) while she told him about a case and it would be so boring and mundane to everyone else but to him, it would be perfect, because it was _normal._

He wanted it to be real.

He grabbed the blanket next to them and gently covered them with it.

He knew he wasn’t normal; he knew it wasn’t real.

But he couldn’t remember ever wanting anything more.  
  


* * *

  
“How long has she been with us now?” Amenadiel asked one day, his expression curious and wistful.

Lucifer gave an absent hum as Celeste’s inquisitive fingers searched his face, trailing over his eyelids, his nose, his lips.

“Four months,” he hated how he knew that so he added a mumbled “give or take,” for good measure.

Amenadiel hummed casually and sat back in his chair.

“It appears my timings were off.”

“What do you mean?”

His brother smiled, all crinkled eyes and pearly white teeth.

“I said it would take six for you to fall in love with her.”  
  


* * *

  
Lucifer was pacing.

A fear he had never felt before was strangling his throat, his heart pounding wildly behind his ribcage. His mind was spinning with painful _what ifs,_ horrible images that seared behind his vision, because Celeste was _gone._

“I should _never_ have trusted Maze with her,” he growled, running his fingers through his hair.

Chloe didn’t reply. She was busy surveying the messy penthouse, the shattered glass and items scattered all over his expensive rug. She had slipped into detective mode, looking for clues, but Lucifer couldn’t help.

He couldn’t think.

He couldn’t _breathe_.

 _What if she’s really gone?_ he thought, a rock of despair in the pit of his stomach.

Before, he couldn’t imagine life with her. Now, he couldn’t imagine anything else.

Two arms were suddenly wrapping around his waist from behind. The Detective pressed her cheek to his back, her fingers splaying on his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut and grabbed her hand, an anchor keeping him from sinking into despair.

She entwined their fingers and held on tight.

"We’ll find her, Lucifer.”

He swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat and brought their entwined fingers to his mouth. He placed a kiss there.

He was just about to call in some favours when the elevator doors slid open and Maze casually walked in with his baby in her stroller.

He snapped.

“Where the _fuck_ have you been?”

Chloe let go of him, distancing herself from his rage.

Maze scoffed, not taking it seriously.

“She pulled the cloth off the table so everything smashed everywhere and then she wouldn’t sleep,” she left the stroller by the elevator and moved over to the bar, “so I took her for a walk around the block. It’s no big deal.”

The words seem to ignite something in him, a spark to light the fire.

He had his hands clasped tightly on her shoulders — fighting the urge to curl them around her neck — before she could blink.

“Don’t _ever_ do that again,” he snarled fiercely, red flashing across his irises.

Maze matched his fire, as he knew she would, and furiously pushed him off her.

“What, take her for a fucking walk?”

His fingers itched at his sides.

“Not without telling me first,” he seethed, “I thought—”

He closed his eyes, biting back the wave of unsettling possibilities that seared behind his vision again.

“No, you didn’t think,” Maze spat, “you never think.”

“Lucifer…” the Detective’s hand was on his shoulder again, “Cece is fine. She’s okay.”

He blinked, the red haze lifting, as his eyes dragged from his baby to a clearly hurt Maze and back again.

“Bloody hell,” he huffed, wiping a tired hand over his face.

The demon was pouring herself a drink, helping herself to a generous glass of that 1926 Macallan.

“Maze…” he started uneasily, “I’m sorry. Genuinely.”

She wouldn’t look at him, a muscle in her jaw jumping. She was as stubborn as he was; it was why they’d been so close for so many years. They were too similar for their own good.

“It’s… _possible_ I overreacted.”

Both women huffed and maybe he should have felt guilty — but he looked at Celeste, and all he could feel was relief.  
  


* * *

  
“Congratulations, Detective,” Lucifer smirked, tipping his glass to his partner, “another job well done.”

She smiled, picking her wine glass up and joining him for a toast. It was another case closed, another criminal brought to justice, and the thrill still hadn’t worn off.

The air between them was easy and relaxed, but also heated, desire brimming under the surface. The tension that had been burning between them for years was like an elastic band, pulled tight and ready to snap.

He was standing by his piano and she was holding Celeste when she quietly asked—

“Play for us?”

He felt the word like an ache in his chest.

_Us._

He wanted them to be an _us._

He was already theirs, after-all.

He sat down, a slave to her orders, her affection.

She sat down next to him, the baby in her lap. On the surface of the piano, there was an empty glass of whiskey and a half burned cigarette still smoking from the crystal ashtray. There was a discordant crash as Celeste’s chubby fingers slammed down on the keys. She giggled, clearly enjoying the noise, before she drew her hands back and looked at him expectantly.

His mouth twitched under his stubble.

“What do you want?”

He _swore_ her eyes flickered pointedly to his mouth, before she murmured, “surprise us.”

He nodded and began to play.

He played for Celeste — _Old McDonald had a farm, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, When You Wish Upon a Star._ He played to make the Detective laugh — an expertly intricate and complicated version of _Heart and Soul._ He played _Knocking on Heaven’s Door_ without even realising it, an homage to a priest he had never quite forgotten, the unlikely friend who taught him how to feel.

Before he knew it, he was playing _Your Song_ by Elton John and singing, too.

 _“And you can tell everybody, this is your song. It may be quite simple, but now that it’s done,”_ he crooned, the moonlight streaming in through the window and bouncing off his ring as his fingers danced across the keys, _“I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind, that I put down in words…”_

A vice around his heart, he found himself glancing down at his child.

_“How wonderful life is now you’re in the world.”_

He finished the song with a flourish, without even realising he’d slightly changed the lyric, and the melody softly floated away with the last key.

He had lost himself in it, so much so that when silence fell over them and he looked at the Detective, he saw her eyes were filled with tears.

“Detective?” he frowned, “are you okay? I didn’t mean to upset you…”

She shook her head softly, her throat moving as she swallowed.

She quickly looked away, her guard back up as she bounced Celeste in her lap. She turned her so she could see her face.

“Isn’t daddy amazing?” she cooed sweetly, “yes he is, what a talented daddy you have.”

He preened at the praise but the feeling was quickly replaced by shock as Celeste babbled—

“ _Dada_.”

It was clear as a bell and the Detective’s eyes widened, his own shock mirrored in them.

He blinked before an incredulous sort of noise rolled from his chest.

“That’s right, clever girl,” he murmured, holding her finger.

The Detective was crying now, silver tears that glistened in the light. She rolled her eyes at herself, letting out a pretty laugh, before holding the baby tighter.

Lucifer’s hands rested calmly on the piano keys as he pondered his new position.

He’d had so many titles over the years — Prince of Darkness, Lord of Hell, King of Desire — but he was pretty sure _dada_ was his favourite.  
  


* * *

  
“I should just do it, shouldn’t I?” he asked Celeste, who was recovering from a cold.

She sniffed, her nose red, and he wondered if he should give her more medicine. It had been her first one, a sign of her mortality, her _human-ness,_ and Lucifer prepared himself for a lifetime of fretting. She would get sick again. She would suffer. She would _die._

He pushed it all down.

There was no point in worrying about her kicking the proverbial bucket. Not before she had even turned one, at least. 

“I should just ask her,” he continued his line of questioning, tipping his head to the side, “we’ve waited long enough.”

Celeste babbled a line of nonsensical words that he took to mean _go for it._

The women in the precinct were fussing around her as they always did. They were fussing around _him_ , even more than they did before Celeste arrived. He still didn’t quite understand why human women’s libidos seemed to go crazy when they saw a man with a baby.

He didn’t need to.

He didn’t need to use it to his advantage anymore.

He only wanted one woman — and she was currently making her way towards them from the interrogation room.

“Hello,” she cooed, bending at the waist to pinch Celeste’s cheek, “how’s my baby?”

“I’m fine, Detective, but it’s the child who’s been sick.”

She smirked and rolled her eyes at his quip, straightening to her full height.

“We don’t have a case, what are you doing here?” she asked, quirking a brow, before her expression turned flat, “are you using your baby to pick up women again?”

He scoffed, outraged at the prospect.

“Quite the opposite,” he retorted, “I came to ask you something.”

“Oh?”

He looked at her again — this infuriating, layered, complicated, _beautiful_ woman — and wondered what had taken him so long.

“Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

Her eyes widened, surprise flashing through them, before she rolled her bottom lip between her teeth.

Her smile was blinding when she finally, _finally_ , whispered—

“ _Yes_.”  
  


* * *

  
“And I find I’m… _nervous_.”

Lucifer practically scoffed the word, adjusting his expensive cufflinks for something to do.

It was utterly _ridiculous —_ and yet it was the truth.

Linda hummed, that expression characteristically guarded and smooth.

“What are you nervous about?” she asked, “are you unsure of Chloe’s feelings for you?”

He shook his head.

“No, it’s not that,” he said, “I think it’s quite obvious how we both feel, it’s just… we’ve spent so long dancing around it, the final step seems… daunting.”

Linda nodded, sympathetic to his distress.

“I understand. Taking that final leap can be scary, but it can also be very exhilarating. As you say, you’ve waited a long time for this. It’s time to enjoy it.”

He fiddled with his cufflink again, still unsure.

“The Detective needs someone as _good_ as her,” he bit out, “that’s clearly not me.”

“It’s also not for you to decide what she needs,” Linda countered gently, “she’s her own woman and if she decides you’re what she wants… well, you’ll just have to live with that.”

He huffed a laugh and folded his hands over his lap.

“There’s something else…” the doctor started, her eyes narrowing perceptively, “something else you’re insecure about.”

He scoffed.

“I don’t have insecurities. Look at me.”

Linda was unmoved.

“And yet…”

He blinked at her before he gave a sigh of defeat.

“I’m just not… _sure…_ I can give her what she wants. If I’m even capable of… _love_ …”

The word sounded foreign on his tongue.

“Of course you’re capable of it.”

He glanced at her warily.

“How do you know?”

Linda’s expression was soft.

“Because you love your daughter.”

He faltered, the words hitting him with force.

He did.

The way she smiled, the way she moved, everything they had been through and everything they _would_ go through — the first time she lost a tooth, her first day at school, her first heartbreak, he wanted to be there for all of it.

He loved her completely.

And the Detective loved her too.

So maybe loving each other wasn’t such a tall order, after-all.


	6. Chapter 6

As the Detective finished her dessert, Lucifer realised what else he had been afraid of.

She was perfect. The night was perfect. The wine and conversation had flowed, she looked beautiful, and he was quite sure that if he kissed her at the end of the night, she would kiss him back. They would begin the next step of their relationship and he had Celeste too _and_ … something had to go wrong.

Something had to break.

He was the devil. He didn’t deserve nice things.

And _yet_ —

The dinner was over and there had been no disasters.

In-fact, as he leaned forward, across the table, he thought about that kiss.

He watched her eyes darken, her gaze flickering to his mouth as he edged closer. Her hand was sliding across the table to cover his and she entwined their fingers. Her thumb stroked absently over his ring. He was so close now he could smell her, all peaches and sweet perfume. He could feel her, the warmth she carried with her, the kindness she infected everyone with.

His stormy gaze flitted from her eyes to her mouth and back again, silently seeking permission.

“Lucifer,” she whispered, like a warm and familiar _welcome home._

Her lips parted and then just brushed his, hot and electric, when a harsh vibration buzzed between them.

“I’m going to throw that bloody thing in the sea,” he gave a breathless laugh, half-amused, half-frustrated at being interrupted yet again by her phone. Over the years, it had become his worst enemy.

She pursed her lips, a smile pulling at them.

“It’s not mine.”

He arched a brow, pulling back to see _his_ phone vibrating on the table.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured and before he became a father, he would have made good on his word and tossed it in the cold waters.

He answered it instead.

“ _Lucifer_ ,” Ella’s voice was a sob.

His blood turned cold.

“What’s wrong?”

The silence on the other end of the phone was deafening.

“I’m sorry,” she cried, choking on another sob, “I’m _so_ sorry, they just — they took her.”

His fingers tightened around the phone.

“Who?” panic gripped at him like a vice as she struggled for words, “bloody hell, Ella, calm down. Tell me what happened.”

“A man and a woman,” she sobbed, “she said she was Cece’s Mom. She said — she said she wanted her back and —and the man grabbed her, I couldn’t stop him.”

Lucifer screwed his eyes shut, his jaw clenching as his mind tried to catch up, to process it.

“Stay there,” he said curtly, “just — don’t move. I’m coming.”

The Detective was watching him, her brows furrowed worriedly, but she knew better than to ask as they both jumped up. He threw some notes on the table, probably hundreds more than necessary, and grabbed her by the wrist.

“We need to go.”

She followed him without question.  
  


* * *

  
Ella was pacing the penthouse when the elevator doors whistled open.

“I’m so sorry!” she sobbed, racing over to them. Her small frame was wracked with the force of them, deep cries that came from the pit of her stomach.

Chloe embraced her as Lucifer strode into the penthouse and tried to _think._

“Ella, we’re gonna need you to take some deep breaths and tell us what happened,” he was vaguely aware of the Detective speaking, her voice soothing and calm. She always had been better under pressure than he was.

Ella did as she was told, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply.

“I was just putting her to bed,” she started, distraught, “and the doors opened and — the woman said she was here for her baby. I said no, obviously, and told her to wait for you but… but she _wouldn’t_ and the man she brought was obviously the muscle. I couldn’t stop him and they just — they took her.”

Lucifer clenched his jaw, his fingers flexing into a fist at his side. At the back of his mind, he registered that he was shaking.

He felt the air move as Ella approached him.

He flinched when she touched his shoulder.

“Lucifer…”

He turned around. Her face was flushed, tears still rolling uncontrollably.

“I really, _really_ tried,” she whispered brokenly.

His mouth twitched sadly. He squeezed the top of her arm because it was all he could do to offer reassurance. He couldn’t speak, but he hoped his eyes portrayed everything he was feeling. It wasn’t her fault — and he didn’t blame her.

“We’ll find her,” Chloe insisted fiercely, “I’m a _detective_ , you’re my partner, it’s our job. We’ll tear the city apart if we have to. We’ll find her.”

“The man, he said her name,” Ella said then, “that... that could be helpful, right?”

“Yes,” the Detective nodded, enthused, “very helpful. What was her name?”

“Veronica,” Ella breathed, “he called her Veronica.”

Lucifer frowned, sifting through his mind until he found the lightbulb moment.

“Of course,” he breathed, remembering that brunette from his past, her soft features just like Celeste’s.

“She’s the mother,” the Detective said. It wasn’t a question.

“She gave birth to her, yes,” it was a subtle correction, but a correction nonetheless, “and I know where to find her.”  
  


* * *

  
“Alright, we need to be calm about this. We need to be diplomatic. If we—”

The Detective’s voice was interrupted by the harsh slam of metal against wood.

 _“—_ and he’s kicked the door in,” she muttered.

He strode inside the house, his eyes frantic and wild. He heard a baby crying — _his_ baby — and followed the noise, the Detective trailing behind.

Veronica and his baby and the man who must have overpowered Ella were in the shoddy kitchen, their eyes wide with surprise.

Celeste wailed and squirmed in Veronica’s arms, holding her own out for him.

“Give her to me,” he cut to the chase, a low and dangerous order.

The Detective was standing next to him, her body tense. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her fingers twitching, undoubtedly ready to reach for the gun at her hip.

Veronica lifted her chin, looking stubborn and smug and older than he remembered. There were lines around her eyes, purple bags under them, but _she_ hadn’t been kept awake all night by her baby so he didn’t know why.

She had abandoned her — and she couldn’t just _take that back._

“I changed my mind,” she said with a small shrug.

Lucifer just stared, silence stretching out between them all.

“Excuse me?”

The man - Veronica's boyfriend, he assumed - took a step towards them, walking around the kitchen counter with his top lip curled, ready to fight.

The growl Lucifer emitted was more wolf than man and he dragged his furious gaze to him, fire flashing across his irises.

The man stumbled back, shocked.

“I really wouldn’t,” he snarled.

“Lucifer,” the Detective murmured his name, soft as though to placate him, and touched a hand to his arm.

He couldn’t hear her over the white noise in his head.

“Look, John quit using,” Veronica started, gesturing to the man, “and he got a good job down at the factory.”

Lucifer blinked again, failing to see the relevance.

“And?” he snapped impatiently.

“ _And_ I got help and I’m in a really good place now too,” she sniffed, “so I totally want to give this whole family thing a shot.”

“A _shot?_ ” he repeated incredulously, “this isn’t a _game,_ Veronica. You don’t get a test run.”

A whole different life suddenly unfolded before him. One where his child grew up without him, where he never saw her again, where she wasn’t even _called_ Celeste. His throat felt thick with pure emotion, it was something he had never felt before, and he wasn’t above begging.

“Look, I’ll give you money,” he insisted, “however much you want. _Whatever_ you want.”

“I don’t want money, I want my baby.”

His anger flared under his skin.

“Well you fucking didn’t six months ago.”

“Who cares?” she rolled her eyes dismissively, “I want her now and I’m her mother. She should be with her mother.”

The Detective was still holding his arm, a tight grip of reassurance, and he could tell he wasn’t getting anywhere so he scrambled for middle ground.

“And I’m her father. She should be with me too. We can come to some sort of arrangement.”

“No. I’m moving back home to Canada. I’m taking her with me.”

Lucifer’s jaw ticked, the fingers of his right hand curling into a fist. His ring dug into his skin.

“No, see, that doesn’t _work_ for me,” he said through gritted teeth, his temper like an elastic band ready to snap.

“You didn’t even know she existed before.”

“Because you never _told_ me!” he raged, “you never gave me a chance. Then you did — and she has a home with me. I’ve tried to make it the best I could. It’s not perfect, _I’m_ not perfect, but it’s _real_. You abandoned her.”

“I know,” the first real glimpse of feeling passed over Veronica’s face, “I’m not saying that wasn’t wrong or that I’m not grateful. I know there’s no excuse for it and I’m also not saying she doesn’t need you, but she needs me more. I’m her mother.”

He growled in frustration, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“No, you don’t understand,” he muttered, “you don’t understand — I _sing_ to her.”

They were all staring at him blankly. Even the Detective looked confused at the change in subject.

He continued ranting, a tidal wave of grief and bewilderment washing over him, and his jaw was aching from clenching it so hard and why were his eyes burning?

“I feed her and I play with her and when she wakes up in the middle of the night, I rock her. I mean, that’s… that’s _crazy_ , that was never me, I don’t do that. She laughs with me and I know all her favourite toys and she calls me _daddy._ And the Detective, she reads to her. She looks after her too and she loves her. _I_ love her. I’ve never loved anything before. So you can’t. You can’t take her away.”

“Lucifer…” the Detective breathed his name, thick with tears.

There was the briefest flicker of sympathy on Veronica’s face before she lifted her chin.

“I’m sorry,” was all she said.

Lucifer’s rage bubbled to the surface, every battled-honed muscle pulled taut and ready to fight. He took a step forward, his top lip curled.

The Detective jumped in-front of him.

She placed a steadying hand on his chest.

His dark eyes flashed down to her, betrayed.

He thought she might try to appeal to his better nature, to crow things like _“this isn’t you”_ when it _was_ him. He was the _devil_. All powerful. He took what he wanted.

But she didn’t say that. Instead, she held his gaze and tried a different tack.

“If you do this, if you hurt them…” she started lowly, “you will never see her again. You’ll have to live with that — and you’ll have to explain it to her when she’s older. We’ll go through the courts. We’ll do this properly.”

She turned around to glare at the couple, her best stern Detective face on as she flashed the badge at her hip.

“ _You_ — don’t leave the country.”

She looked back at him and he looked at her, so desperate to help him, and he slowly started to see what she meant about Celeste.

It would be the hardest thing he ever had to do — but he had to let her go for now.  
  


* * *

  
The penthouse was eerily quiet — but he could still hear her.

He could hear her cry, the one that meant she was hungry and the one that meant she just wanted to be held. He could hear her laugh, the little snort she made when the Detective pulled faces at her, and the full-bellied one when Amenadiel carried her on his shoulders.

How had he not known that the whole time, that missing piece of his life was a tiny, helpless human? How had he lived without her, how had he survived it?

The Detective was still here. She’d made it clear she wasn’t leaving his side.

And when he finally crawled into bed, exhausted, she was still there, sitting on the edge.

“I’ll stay with you tonight,” she whispered, tenderly pushing a stray black curl away from his face.

Her eyes were flickering to the bed, silently clarifying that she would be staying _here._

“If that would make you feel better," he muttered.

Her mouth twitched, leaving it unsaid — that it wasn’t for her at all.

She stroked his face again, her fingertips trailing over rough stubble. They lingered at his lips, feeling them part under her touch, and then she shifted and slid into bed next to him, clothes and all.

She rested her head on his chest, her hair splaying out like a golden halo, the closest he had been to heaven since he fell.

She took his hand and gently entwined their fingers.

“I knew I’d have you in my bed by the end of our first date,” he quipped quietly, but the joke rang hollow.

She laughed anyway — a small, breathless little sound.

“Yes, not quite the ending I was expecting,” she murmured, “but I meant it, Lucifer. We’ll get her back. We’ll be smart about it and go through the courts.”

He took a breath but didn’t reply, and it was quiet for a few moments before he asked—

“And how many courts favour the father in these situations?”

Her silence was deafening.  
  


* * *

  
Lucifer woke with what felt like the world’s worst hangover.

His head was pounding, his mouth too dry, and the other side of the bed was empty. The sheets were cold, meaning the Detective must have left them a good while ago, and a note was on the pillow.

He blinked sleepily, grabbing the paper and reading through bleary eyes.

_I have something I need to do._

_Will be back later._

_Chloe_

He sighed, running a tired hand over his face, and went to drink himself into a coma.

When he was dressed and nearly there, just at that precipice where he _finally_ began to feel a buzz, the elevator doors rasped open.

He turned around from where he was sitting on the piano stool and his lips parted in surprise.

As promised, the Detective was back, a soft smile curling her lips, and she wasn’t alone.

Cradled in her arms, firmly tugging at a strand of her hair, was his baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to add that bit at the end because I know this chapter was ANGST CITY! but hope that made up for it haha. Lots of fluff in the final two🤭
> 
> If you're wondering where Veronica is from, it's Season 3 Episode 7, 'Off the Record'. She's the woman Reece finds tied up in Lucifer's bed.


	7. Chapter 7

Lucifer stared at the pair in-front of him, his eyes wide.

The Detective was still smiling, but it was a shaky smile, her eyes teary.

“Detective?” he asked, his throat thick with emotion. 

He waited for her to explain, overwhelming love and relief hitting him square in the chest.

“I went to see Veronica this morning,” she said and slowly walked towards him until the hand Celeste was holding out could touch his chest.

He took it gratefully, squeezing her fingers and bringing them to his mouth to lay a kiss there. She giggled and kept her fingers anchored against his mouth as the Detective carried on speaking.

“I thought she might be more agreeable when she had slept on it… and if we could speak, woman to woman, mother to mother…”

“What happened?” he asked, his lips moving against Celeste’s fingers.

“I told her I understood how she felt, that it wasn’t easy. I struggled for months when Trixie was born and I had Dan. It seems she was totally alone and she couldn’t cope,” she started, “I told her that was okay, that needing help was nothing to be ashamed of, and that we didn’t blame her.”

He wasn’t sure he entirely agreed, he harboured more than a little resentment towards her, but the Detective had always been more forgiving than he was. She was a mother too, she understood in ways that he didn't, and he listened as she continued speaking. 

“I told her what an amazing father you are,” her voice dropped then, soft and aching, “I told her how much you had changed, how you weren’t the careless playboy she knew. Of course I mentioned what a good life you could give her, how rich you are, but it’s so much more than that. I showed her pictures on my phone, told her stories. She remembered how Cece had reached for you yesterday, cried for you. She said she had fallen asleep crying for _dada,_ and that it was the first thing she said when she woke up this morning.”

His chest ached as he looked at his daughter and imagined her crying for him.

“I told her that you two together… the way you look after her, protect her, _love_ her… it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. You have a beautiful relationship. She started to cry.”

Lucifer glanced at Celeste.

“No, _Veronica_ cried _,_ ” Chloe corrected, “I don’t think she’s a bad person, Lucifer. I think she was struggling and I think she’s lost. So hearing everything you’ve done, everything you’ve been through… I guess it was a lot for her to take. She just kept saying she was sorry for leaving her and that she loved her — and I said I didn’t think it was about that. I don’t think it matters how much she loves her, or how much you love her. The only thing that counts is what’s best for Cece. Maybe that’s what love really is.”

He stared, speechless for once in his life, and his eyes and throat were inexplicably burning again. 

“Detective, what does all this mean?”

She blinked at him for a moment before her mouth slowly spread into a smile.

“She’s staying with us, Lucifer,” she said and just like that, his world, upside down and out of focus, slipped back into place, “this is her home.”

He let out the breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding, his chest flooding with a warmth that was almost painful.

He didn’t know what to do, what to say, how to _thank_ her — so he kissed her.

He felt her sharp intake of breath as he took her face in his hands. At first, it was just a short kiss, one of gratitude, but then he kissed her again and _this_ was the kiss he had been aching for since that balmy afternoon on the beach.

This was _I love you, thank you_ and _stay_ all wrapped together in their mouths. 

Celeste was still in her arms and sandwiched between them — _part_ of them, the symbolism wasn’t lost on him. One of his hands left her face, his fingers biting at her waist. He pulled her closer. It was a sweet kiss, nothing like the passionate, fiery one he had imagined so many times it was almost _pathetic_ , and they stayed there for a moment, just touching for the sake of touching, breathing through their noses. He could taste mint and a faint hint of the coffee she must have had at Veronicas and tears — his or hers, he wasn’t sure — and when he pulled back, her blue eyes were shining.

He cradled her face, his thumb sweeping over her cheekbone.

“You did all that for me?”

She looked at him like he was mad, like it was _obvious._

And suddenly it was.

This entire time, she had never hesitated. She had been with him, by his side, from the moment that bundle was placed in his elevator. She had interviewed his lovers like it was the most important case of her career, wanting to find her mother because _he_ did — and when he didn’t anymore, she’d acted like a mother herself.

She was as vulnerable around him as he was around her, would fight for him, _crawl_ for him, because—

“I love her, Lucifer,” she said and then took a sharp breath; she released it in an exhale of defeat, “just as I love you.”

The words hit him square in the chest and all he could do was kiss her again. She was so soft and so good and so _his —_ and he kissed her until she was breathless. He poured everything into the kiss, all the pain and heartache, the anger and loneliness, the tears he could never bring himself to cry and all the hurt he’d harboured all his life… he gave it to her.

This woman who showed him the best of a world that never loved him.

“Detective,” he murmured against her lips, “let’s put the baby in her room.”

She arched a brow, a smile toying on her lips.

“But you just got her back.”

He leaned in, his mouth skimming her jaw.

“And I’d like to show you how grateful I am.”

He felt her shudder underneath him, the air crackling between them.

He took Celeste from her, grateful to have her in his arms again. He placed her in the room he’d had decorated for her, taking a moment to just watch her as she played with some of the toys Amenadiel had bought her. Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, he reminded himself to never take her for granted again.

When he returned to the living area, the Detective wasn’t there.

She was in his room, in his _bed_.

A chuckle rumbled from his chest, his brow arching smoothly.

“Darling, are you sure?”

She raised up on her knees, scooting to the edge of the bed. Her hands slid up his chest where she gently tugged at his lapels.

“Lucifer,” she breathed and pushed his expensive jacket off his shoulders, “haven’t we waited long enough?”

He couldn’t agree more.

This time, _she_ kissed _him_. It was a more heated kiss, one that caused lust to snap at his heels. He opened his mouth when he felt her tongue sweep across his bottom lip. He swallowed the moan she probably didn’t mean to make, his hands cradling her face as her fingers toyed along his belt. She unbuckled it, the plush thud as the buckle landed on the carpet penetrating the silence.

His hands crept down to her shoulders and then to the hem of her shirt, breaking the kiss to pull it over her head. Once she had got his own off, and his trousers too, she pulled him backwards until they fell on the bed. He covered her with his body, the muscles of his abs twitching as her inquisitive fingers trailed over them.

He lavished her with attention, his intense gratitude pouring from his fingertips. He showed her how he felt with his body, his hands, his mouth, bringing her to peak after peak.

Eventually, she shuddered and had to push him away, buzzing from oversensitivity. His mouth was between her legs, the grit of his stubble sliding against her wet inner thigh. She shivered and combed her fingers through his messy hair, pulling him up so she could kiss him.

“Surely it’s your turn,” she laughed against his lips, a lovely twinkling sound, her skin covered with a flush sheen of sweat.

He threw her a devastating grin, capturing her swollen lips in another heated kiss.

“What you did for me…” he whispered against the corner of her mouth, “I’ll never forget it.”

She exhaled shakily, the depth of her own feeling shining behind her eyes.

“I love you,” she murmured, her nose grazing the hollow of his throat. She held onto him and he held on right back, everything they had been through stretched out and laid bare in the space between them.

When he slipped inside her, _finally,_ the air seemed to shift and change. It burned hotter, brighter, and he was suddenly aware he had everything he’d ever wanted. His teeth scraped against her bottom lip and he sucked it into his mouth, slick and slippery wet. She moaned, a pretty sound that scorched fire through his veins. 

Her back arched against the bed — soft, tanned skin buried in dark silk sheets. Her loose hair was a flash of colour, spilling like honey over his pillows. Her fingers dragged through his curls, across his shoulders, down his sweat-slicked back. She was hot and tight and perfect, as though she were made to fit and surround him just like this. They moved together until he couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.

When it was done, partners in every way, her fingers trailed absentmindedly up and down his spine.

“I do too, you know,” he rasped against her neck.

“You do what?”

“Love you.”

He felt her heart stutter and miss a beat between them, like the flutter of butterfly wings.

Before her, before Celeste, he used to think humans were so insignificant.

Now, everything _but_ them seemed insignificant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments! I'm so rubbish at replying (I'm going to try and be better!) but just know I read and love every one. I love how much detail you guys put into them! Your theories and speculations are so well thought out, way more complicated than I ever intended haha I'm just here for the fluff...


	8. Epilogue

Lucifer stared at the garish banner spanning between two of his Assyrian columns, his mouth pinching in distaste.

 _Happy Birthday Cece —_ it read, despite his fierce refusal to call her that. 

He shook his head, his arms crossed over his chest.

“This colour scheme is all wrong,” he muttered.

The Detective let out a laugh next to him.

“Pink is Cece’s favourite.”

He clicked his tongue.

“But it’s just… _so_ pink,” he shuddered, his eyes flitting over his frankly unrecognisable penthouse.

Around him, the party was in full swing, friends and family and more spawns than he could handle — which was a solid _two_ including his and the Detective’s, and _maybe_ three for Amenadiel and Linda’s newborn, Charlie.

Chloe raised a pointed brow to the girl in question, who was proudly showing Maze her collection of very _pink_ balloons. The demon popped one with one of her curved blades, smirking as Celeste giggled.

Lucifer sighed in exasperation, arching a brow as he swiped the dagger from her hand.

She had been under strict instructions — _no blades forged in the fires of hell at his child’s birthday party_ — but still, Maze pouted and rolled her eyes.

He turned his attention back to the gaudy decoration.

“I really would’ve thought a child of mine would have better taste.”

“She’s _two_.”

He scoffed as though that wasn’t important and all the Detective could do was chuckle, taking his face in her hands. She placed a gentle kiss on his lips before she gave his chest a sympathetic pat. Then she was gone, probably to put the candles on the cake.

He turned his attention back to Celeste again, toying his whiskey glass between his fingers. She was settled in-front of the ludicrously expensive dollhouse he had bought her, proudly showing it off to the friends she had made at preschool — or her minions, as Lucifer liked to call them.

She was surrounded by a sea of parcels, all shapes and sizes, and he had to admit... he might have gone a little overboard. But she was the _devil’s daughter_ , he told himself. Of course she was going to be a little spoilt.

He watched the revelry for a moment before he stepped outside, his lungs burning for a cigarette. Quietly sliding the glass door shut, he moved over to the balcony. He couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting up, taking in the red-streaked sky, feeling the warmth of the balmy Californian air as the sun began to set.

He thought of Celeste.

He thought of his Father.

Whatever His game plan, whatever He intended, his daughter _was_ a blessing.

Lucifer knew that now.

He put his whiskey glass down on the outside table and reached into his suit pocket. There was a flash of white as he slipped a cigarette between his teeth. He retrieved his lighter next, sighing in frustration when he flicked it open and the flame didn’t appear. He tried again, closing his eyes with another sigh when it didn’t work.

There was a click nonetheless, the warmth of a flame beside him, and he opened his eyes to see Veronica standing next to him.

He shifted, bristling awkwardly. He rolled his shoulders, his jaw sliding to the side.

Still, she stared him down, waiting patiently with one eyebrow arched as she held her lighter before him. He relented with another sigh, leaning forward and watching the flame engulf the end.

He took a drag and blew the smoke away from her.

He noticed she didn’t have one so he held his own between his teeth. It hung there as he reached into his pocket again and pulled the packet out. He opened it, extending it to her and watching as she slowly pulled one out.

He slipped the packet back in his pocket and turned back to the sky as she lit it.

He didn’t know what to say to her. She visited now and then, an arrangement that suited them both, but it was normally Chloe that she dealt with. He still hadn’t quite forgiven her, found it hard to move on. He supposed he was grateful for the things she could tell him — the day she was born, for example, which was the reason they could have this party in the first place.

They stood in silence for a moment before she broke it.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

A light scoff rolled from his chest. “The Detective invited you.”

“Still.”

His shoulders rolled again. He could just _hear_ the Detective putting her best stern voice on, pleading _“be nice_.”

“It’s fine. I’m sure it means a lot to the child that you’re here.”

She nodded.

“I never thanked you — for what you did.”

He arched a brow, turning to face her for the first time. His dark eyes swept over her face. He wondered again at his relationship with the Detective, still so strong after all these years, and two as a real couple. Everything he had found beautiful and different about Veronica back then… he now found _ordinary_.

 _Having eyes for only one woman_ appeared to be another human notion he once found ridiculous, but was in-fact, very accurate.

She must have been nervous because she carried on before he could reply.

“I don’t know what I was thinking when I dropped her off here — I guess I wasn’t thinking at all. I was just so… _tired._ I was drowning. I know it’s not an excuse, but if therapy taught me anything, it’s that I need to say these things while I still can. So I want to say thank you. The way you are with her… it’s incredible. You’ve changed so much.”

Not entirely. He was still the devil, and part of her had surely known he had the potential to be dangerous, so he asked—

“Weren’t you worried about leaving her with me?”

She shuffled on her feet, looking a little guilty.

“To be honest, I was so lost I don’t think I was capable of it. But despite all your insistences to the contrary, I knew you were a good man. I thought you were just a playboy, that maybe you had a few illegitimate kids lying around—”

He loved Celeste, but his nose still scrunched in disgust at the prospect. He didn’t think his heart could take the _stress_ of another surprise bundle of joy. If the Detective ever talked him into more offsprings, and if it were even possible, they would very much be meticulously, painstakingly _planned._

“—and I hoped you’d find your way, but in the meantime, I knew you weren’t dangerous. You were just all about the fun.”

He scoffed and took a drag of his cigarette, blowing some smoke out of the corner of his mouth.

She nudged his shoulder then, probably trying to chip away a little more at his cold veneer.

“We _did_ have fun, didn’t we?”

He looked down at her. Her imploring smile was friendly and he relented with a smirk.

“I still don’t know how I got those things through customs.”

She laughed at what he was referring to — the definitely _not_ FDA approved, edible sex toys.

“I mean it, Lucifer,” she said then, back to serious, “thank you for looking after my baby. She belongs with you, I see that now, but thank you for still letting me be in her life.”

That was another thing she had the Detective to be thankful for. She had sat him down, _talked_ him down, as he paced and ranted and insisted she shouldn’t be. She had _abandoned_ her, he seethed, and then tried to take her away. Chloe had listened with her typical patience and grace, and gently insisted she was still her mother. Celeste deserved to have them _both_ in her life.

He had relented, but he still found it important to warn—

“Don’t disappoint her, Veronica. Don’t let her down. You won’t get another chance.”

She nodded fiercely.

“I won’t.”

They weren’t exactly at the _hugging_ stage, so she merely gave his arm a little squeeze, and then the sliding doors opened to reveal the Detective.

“Come on guys,” she said, “it’s time for cake.”

She walked back inside and maybe he had a certain look on his face because Veronica was smiling again.

“You love her?”

He stared after the Detective, watching through the glass as she picked Celeste up and gave her a hug. His chest flooded with a warmth so intense, it was almost painful.

“Yes,” he murmured, “I love her very much.”

“Then you’re lucky,” Veronica said, “both of you.”

He agreed wholeheartedly, knowing that what he and the Detective had was special. He had waited an eternity for it, after-all.

They walked inside, the Detective bouncing Celeste on her hip and pointing to him.

“There he is,” she crooned, “there’s Daddy.”

Celeste giggled, holding her arms out for him. He took her, hauling her into his arms as the lights suddenly dimmed and a beaming Ella turned the corner holding a huge, layered, very _pink_ birthday cake. The penthouse was filled with a chorus of _happy birthday,_ and Celeste bounced delightedly in his arms.

He grinned as she giggled again and blew the candles out, snuggling into his chest immediately after.

As the singing turned into clapping and then the quite buzz of conversation, Lucifer turned to Chloe, the baby still between them.

He leaned in and kissed her, swallowing her little hum of surprise.

When he pulled back, her eyes were sparkling with bewilderment and awe and _love._

“What was that for?”

He cupped her face with his spare hand, his thumb swiping over her high cheekbone.

“I love you,” he said simply.

Her look of surprise melted into softness.

“I love you too, Lucifer. Always."

He put his arm around her and pulled her into him, surrounded by the two people he cared about the most. A few years ago, he would have found the scene absurd, completely ridiculous but then he realised something.

What we want isn’t always what we need—and he would never need anything more than this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was fluffy enough for you guys! Thanks for joining me on the ride, I loved it! I've got 12,000 words of another Deckerstar fic written already, so hopefully see you soon...😏


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